


Apologies Die On Our Lips

by EchoResonance



Series: Sheith Week 2k16 [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Dark Shiro (Voltron), Everybody Lives, Galra Keith (Voltron), Heavy Angst, M/M, Self-Hatred, Self-Sacrifice, but they might not always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8394820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoResonance/pseuds/EchoResonance
Summary: In the dead of the night, Shiro's nightmares are a catalyst for something worse, and no matter how many times "sorry" is said, nothing can go back to the way it was before.





	1. Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Sheith week 2k16, Day six: Dark!Shiro/Galra!Keith

Scared.

It’s dark.

Where is he?

Hurts.

So much noise.

No, don’t touch him.

Stop.

Hurts.

Screaming.

Is somebody crying?

_ I’m sorry. _

Scared.

Hurts.

_ Scared. Hurts. Scared, hurts, scared hurts scaredhurtsSCARED _

Keith bolts upright and his whole body is trembling. His breath comes in ragged gasps and his heart races in his chest, but he forces himself to calm down. It isn’t his fear. It isn’t his nightmare.

The castle’s lights are dimmed to simulate night when Keith slips out into the hall, but his eyes have no trouble adjusting. One of the few perks to his heritage, he supposes. Without a second thought he strides down the corridor to Shiro’s room, almost sprinting in his worry, his need to wake Shiro, to calm him down.

Yet, once Keith reaches the spot outside of Shiro’s door that he’s stood upon so many times, he hesitates with hand half-raised. Once he would have entered without a second thought when Shiro was in the throes of a nightmare. It’s hardly the first time Shiro’s fear has leaked through the bond and woken him. But...it is the first time since…

One of Keith’s ears twitches awkwardly. He may not be the best choice to wake Shiro now, not when he looks like this. Not when he looks like the very monsters that Shiro is fighting in his sleep. But he can’t very well abandon him to the night terrors and the flashbacks.

Steeling himself, Keith takes a deep breath and touches the access pad. The door hums and slides open to admit him to the dark room, quite bare of decoration. There’s movement from the bed, the rustling and tearing of fabric and the cries of a man consumed in his own dreams, fighting for his life in his memories. With a flick of his ears, Keith goes straight to Shiro’s side and is kneeling by the bed before the door has even closed. His hands reach out to touch the man thrashing on the bed. He pauses, a familiar sick feeling coiling in his stomach at the sight of violet skin and clawed fingers, but he shakes it away.

“Shiro,” he whispers, pushing back the fringe that sticks to the sweat on Shiro’s forehead. “Shiro, it’s alright. You’re safe, I’m here with you.”

It isn’t immediate--it never is. It takes minutes of crooning and carding fingers through his damp hair before Shiro’s body stills and Keith can hear his change in breathing acutely to know that he’s woken up. When Keith moves to cradle Shiro’s jaw in his palm, the man’s face turns toward him, eyes still closed. Keith swipes his thumb across Shiro’s cheek.

“You’re safe,” Keith murmurs. “You’re safe, I’m here.”

Shiro’s lips twitch, and his right hand shifts on the bed; raises to touch the curve of Keith’s neck. His palm fits there perfectly, and Keith shivers when his thumb slides against his pulse.

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, voice hoarse from shouting.

“Mm?”

“You’re a fool.”

Keith stiffens; tries to jerk back. The hand at his neck tightens, and the thumb presses hard against his throat. Shiro’s smile broadens strangely as he opens his eyes, and Keith growls automatically, ears flattening against his skull. Those aren’t Shiro’s eyes. They’re...they’re Keith’s. Flat and yellow, glowing faintly.

“Wh-what—” Keith gasps, already scrambling to free himself, to leap back toward the door.

Shiro’s hand around his throat holds him trapped, though. With that same smile that just looks wrong, Shiro slowly sits upright, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The hand stays on Keith’s neck almost casually, but when Shiro rises to his feet it drags Keith with him.

“Shiro,” Keith says, grasping at the cybernetic arm. “Shiro, wake up. Come on, I know you’re there.”

“Sorry,” Shiro says, and his voice is coldly amused. “Technically Shiro is awake, but he’s so weak, it was easy for me to take over.”

“Shiro! Shiro, come on,” Keith pleads.

The Shiro that isn’t Shiro sighs dramatically. Then, before Keith can really process how it happens, he’s pressed against a wall and there’s a throbbing pain in the back of his head and in his shoulders from an impact he doesn’t remember. Shiro smiles at him, an expression that twists his heart because it’s a familiar smile, one Keith has seen many, many times, but it’s wrong. Sharp and cold like a blade. Impersonal.

“Sorry, kitten. He’s not in,” Shiro says. “But, while I’m here, why don’t we have a little chat?”

The fingers around his throat flex. Keith splutters.

“Been awhile since I’ve seen you,” the imposter hums. His voice is soft, conversational, but in the silence of the ship it seems cacophonous. “Did you miss me?”

“Like a toothache,” Keith bites. This earns him a shake that rattles his brains.

“I don’t understand what little game you’re playing here,” Shiro says. His tone is almost absent and doesn’t match the punishing grip or the way he lifts Keith against the wall. “Surely you realize this isn’t your home?”

“Shut up,” Keith snaps. The imposter chuckles.

“You’re fighting with people who will never see you as an equal,” he says.

“Shut _up_!”

“Those Alteans? The little human, the loud one and his big friend? None of them care for you. You’re only allowed to stay because you’re of use to them.”

“Even if that was true, it wouldn’t matter,” Keith growls.

“You’re a fool,” Shiro says again. He presses harder against Keith’s throat; shoves him painfully hard against the wall. “You don’t belong here.”

“Sh-Shiro!” Keith croaks, fingers scrabbling to find purchase on the smooth metal surface.

“They’re afraid of you,” the imposter purrs. “They think you’re a monster. They’re right.”

“N-no,” Keith pants. He’s on his toes, straining to take some of the pressure away from the cold, hard grasp of the Galra tech. “They d-don’t. Y-you’re wrong.”

“Oh, but you know better. You’re a monster, and _you know it_.”

It isn’t Shiro. Keith knows it isn’t, but knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less. Toxic yellow eyes gleam at him in the dark room, a nasty, cruel smile twisting his gentle face into something unrecognizable. The fingers around his throat tighten; pull him in, and slam him back. He’s allowed just enough air to choke out a cry of pain as the back of his head smacks against the wall.

“That hatred you feel for yourself?” he says. “It’s not really yours. It’s _theirs,_ leaking through the bond.”

“ _Liar_!”

“What can you be, here? You’re nothing to them. Nothing to _him_.”

“You—you’re _not Shiro_!” Keith snarls.

The imposter throws back his head and laughs. It’s an ugly sound, a sick parody of Shiro’s, and it sends chills down Keith’s spine.

“I’m in his head, half-breed,” he murmurs. “I know everything. I know how he can hardly look at you some days because of how you resemble the race that tortured him all those months. I know that there’s a part inside him that will never accept you, because _he fears you._ He _hates_ the Galra, and you, boy, _are one._ What do you think that means?”

His ears press flat against his head, but they’re ringing all the same. His claws can’t catch on the arm anywhere, but he still wraps his fingers around the metal wrist, staring pleadingly into Shiro’s eyes, searching for some sign that he’s there. All he sees is the same harsh yellow that greets him every morning in the mirror, and something in him cracks.

 _Is this how I look?_ he wonders brokenly. _Is this what they see?_

A flash of violet so bright it makes Keith hiss in pain flares along Shiro’s arm, and suddenly the metal isn’t cold. No, it’s hot; so hot it burns and the only thing that keeps Keith from crying out at the pain is the hand that closes around his throat to silence him. Tears spring to his eyes, but he bares his fangs at the False Shiro. The Shiro that laughs when he sees defiance in the eyes of a creature that hasn’t acknowledged it has lost.

“That drive to fight is proof enough,” he says, and god it hurts to hear these words in his voice, the voice that’s offered both comfort and friendship, reprieve and reprimand. “You belong with _them_. Why stay where you’re not wanted?”

Keith scowls.

“Original,” he spits. “I-I’ve—heard that—one be—fore.”

Another laugh. The grip tightens, and Keith’s feet leave the ground completely. He splutters, but he can no longer choke even single words out. Frantically he kicks out, but although the blow hits Shiro square in the stomach, he’s too weak for it to do much besides annoy him.

“If you’re too selfish to leave,” the False Shiro hisses. “Maybe I should just make the decision for you? What do you think?”

 _I think you need to fuck off,_ Keith wants to snarl, but he can’t get it out.

His throat burns and his chest aches, and black spots are invading his vision. It feels as if his veins are being slowly filled with lead, his muscles replaced by tissue paper; he feels so heavy. So weak. But he can’t close his eyes. He can’t let himself fall unconscious. He has to help Shiro. He has to help himself.

“How do you think Shiro will feel when he wakes up and sees your broken body?” the imposter wonders. Almost absently, he slams Keith into the wall again. “Will he cry? Scream? Or will he be glad, and hate himself for it?”

 _No_ , Keith howls, but no sound leaves his lips. _Don’t. Don’t do this. He’s been through enough._

“It’s a shame you won’t get to experience his pain,” the false Shiro purrs, leaning in so close that his lips brush the edge of Keith’s ear. He’s too weak even to shudder. “I bet he’ll scream. But then, I’ll know soon enough, won’t I?”

 _Stay awake_ , Keith commands himself, but his control is slipping. Not even the steady hum in the back of his mind from Red can force his eyes open—or are they open still, and he’s simply lost sight? He can’t see; everything is too dark.

Is Shiro speaking?

Someone’s speaking.

Yelling.

Light.

Did the door open?

Hurts.

Everything hurts.

Something brushes his lips. Something cold.

More speaking.

He tries.

Really, he tries to come to.

It’s so hard.

_Sorry. I’m sorry._

Is he apologizing to Shiro?

Himself?

Red?

He doesn’t know.

Then he doesn’t know anything at all.


	2. Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sheith week 2k16, Day 7: Free day

Shiro hasn’t left his room. Keith is supposed to leave the healing pod today, but he can’t go. He can’t. The others would have let him—hell, Lance practically begged him—but he can’t see Keith. Can’t even think of him without his right palm burning, remembering how Keith’s neck had fit in it, how it had felt as his fingers curled around, pressing in, down, bruising skin and collapsing his air duct.

He hasn’t eaten. He can’t keep anything down, not the food goo or Hunk’s cooking or the strange concoctions that Coran insists are edible but smell like the wrong end of a cow in a dumpster. The first time he tried, just to appease the others, it had come right back up within the hour. Truthfully, he doesn’t even feel the hunger anymore. He’s just...empty.

 _What am I_? he asks his empty room. It seems to laugh at him but offers no answer.

He knows what he is, of course. He’s a monster. He’s weak and broken, and something else is lurking inside him just under the surface. It breaks out whenever his grip on it loosens or when he’s trapped in a flashback, he knows it’s there and he knows it comes out, but… He never thought it could turn him on Keith.

Never has Shiro even entertained the notion that he might hurt Keith in such a way. He wants to protect him, keep him safe and sound and whole and deny every world that wants to take him away. Yet all Shiro sees are the bruises, the _burns_ on Keith’s throat, four on the left side of his neck and one along the right, the whole thing a perfect fit for his fingers. All he feels is the stillness of Keith’s lips when he touches them to check for breathing. All he hears are the others yelling, panicking, scrambling to get Keith to the med bay, get his limp form into a pod and pray, just _pray_ they aren’t too late.

The Galra bruise black. He didn’t know that; he’s never seen one without fur covering their skin. But Keith’s fur is limited to his ears and a trail down his spine, with a few small patches at his shoulders and down his arms.

When a knock sounds on his door he doesn’t answer. It’s not the first time someone’s come to call in the last two days. It won’t be the last.

“Shiro?”

Shiro seizes. His hand throbs and his stomach lurches, but it has nothing more to discard. He’s on his feet before he realizes it and stops, stops just before he can touch the pad beside his door to let the caller in.

 _Keith_.

He swallows. He lowers his hand. He turns away. But he doesn’t move.

“Shiro,” Keith says again. His voice is rough. “Shiro, can we talk?”

Shiro curls his hands into fists at his side. _Yes,_ he wants to say.

He doesn’t say it. What can he say that will matter? Erase the bruises, the very past, wipe away this horror? Nothing.

“Shiro, please.”

He almost breaks. Almost gives in and spins and slams his hand over the pad, because Keith is hurting. God, he’s never heard Keith’s voice sound so _small_ , and more than anything he wants to make it better, to never, ever hear that sound again because oh how it hurts his damaged heart. But he stops himself. It’s his fault that sound is there. He has no right to Keith now.

“I know you’re in there,” Keith murmurs. “I just...want to say I’m sorry. For all of this. It’s not your fault, Shiro, I’m not mad at you.”

Shiro grits his teeth and slowly turns toward the door.

 _Then whose fault is it, Keith?_ Shiro wants to shout. _Whose? Because it isn’t yours._

“Don’t apologize,” he snaps before he can stop himself. “Don’t.”

“Shiro, I—”

“Just...go,” Shiro says, throat thick and eyes stinging. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I can’t. Not now.”

There’s a pregnant pause, and in it Shiro thinks he hears a hundred things. Keith swearing. Keith crying. Keith threatening to storm into his room, invitation be damned, and talk whether he wanted to or not. He’s glad he’s kept the safety lock engaged on his door, because he can’t reach it in time if Keith decides he wants to barge in.

Finally, there’s a soft sigh.

“Okay,” Keith relents. “Okay. I’m going.”

Shiro closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath.

“I love you.”

The air leaves Shiro’s lungs in a choked sob, and Keith is gone.

Shiro does join the rest of the team for dinner that night, and finds himself regretting his decision immediately. He receives a myriad of looks the moment he walks in, ranging from concerned to wary to downright _scared_ , and it makes him sick to his stomach because he doesn’t deserve anybody’s worry and he knows why they’re afraid. They should be. He’s a loose canon.

When he doesn’t sit next to Keith, a heavy cloud settles over the dining room and not even Coran can think of a topic strange enough to distract them. Maybe not wanting to be near Shiro, maybe thinking that the space on Keith’s right side needs to be filled, Lance moves into the empty seat, sandwiching the red paladin between himself and Pidge. Neither comment, but the movement draws Shiro’s attention for a brief moment.

The only reason his spoon doesn’t fall to his plate with a clatter is that his hand has tightened into a vice around it. There are still marks around Keith’s neck. The pod has helped them fade, but the skin is raised and jagged, slightly darker than the rest. His injuries...they’ve _scarred_.

Keith calls after him when he excuses himself abruptly, but he doesn’t respond.

Keith comes by his room again after dinner. He doesn’t answer the door.

They train the next day, and Shiro is the first to lose to the gladiator.

He doesn’t eat with the team. Hunk brings a plate of food goo to his room later and offers to talk. He declines.

Allura gives them the next day off, and Shiro wants to go to the training deck, but he’s too afraid. Keith will be there, he knows he will. Shiro doesn’t go.

Days progress like this, and they turn into weeks, and nothing changes. Keith comes by his door several times a day and Shiro always turns him away. Keith tries to pull him aside to talk in the common room and he always weasels out of it, skin burning painfully where Keith touches him. He’s afraid. He’s so, so afraid, because he doesn’t know what will happen. Doesn’t know what triggered his brutal assault on Keith, doesn’t know what snapped him out of it, doesn’t know if or when it’ll happen again. Doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop if it does.

He refuses to be alone with Keith.

He’ll cut his showers short if Keith enters the bathroom and they’re the only two.

He’ll skip training if it’s one-on-one just in case.

He doesn’t leave his room unless absolutely necessary.

The others notice.

Keith notices.

He doesn’t say anything.

Keith stops knocking.

* * *

 

Keith can’t say he’s surprised. Really, it’s what he’s expected to happen from the moment he discovered what he is. The only surprising thing about Shiro avoiding him is that it’s taken this long, that until now he’s seemed perfectly comfortable with Keith as he is, never mind the occasional startle if Keith moves too quietly or Shiro doesn’t realize he’s there. It’s to be expected. Keith looks like the monsters that tormented Shiro for so long. He has their blood in his veins.

So no, Keith isn’t surprised. But it still hurts. Oh, does it hurt. It’s bad enough that even Lance has tried to talk to him, offer some sort of comfort and lay off of his usual jabs. He brushes everyone off, tells them he’s fine, it’s fine, it’s just something they’ll have to deal with.

More than anything, though, he worries about Shiro. It’s one thing to avoid Keith, but he’s avoiding _everybody_ , and it’s not right. Keith knows he’s scared of what happened, scared he might lash out at any of them, but Shiro won’t let him close enough to help. Right now, he’s fighting against his demons alone, and Keith knows firsthand that that is a losing battle, knows with absolute certainty that Shiro will not be able to deal with the guilt. So one day he takes Allura’s hand and pulls her into the hall during dinner.

“Keith?” she says softly. “What is it?”

Keith bites his lip, wincing as sharp fangs break the skin too easily. His ears flick and fold over his hair.

“I...I wanna ask you…” he mumbles. “If you’ll check on Shiro, later.”

Allura blinks and her hand tightens around his.

“You know I will,” she says. “But he insists that he’s fine.”

“He’s always been an awful liar,” Keith says, and he manages to sound amused. Allura’s lips quirk briefly upward.

“Will he not speak with you, still?” Allura asks cautiously.

Keith looks away. He tries to pull his hand back, but Allura won’t let him.

“I think...what happened finally pushed him over the edge,” Keith breathes, feeling something rise in his throat. “I—I’m no good for him. Not like this.”

“Keith!” Allura exclaims, and he flinches, ears flattening still further against his skull. “How could you think that? There is nobody that he holds more dearly than—”

“When we thought I was human, I might’ve agreed,” Keith interrupts. “But...Allura, he can’t even look at me anymore. I can’t help him, he won’t let me if I try.”

“It’s not—”

“A Galra can’t help him heal,” Keith grits, and something in his expression turns stony at the words. “I am asking you, _begging_ you to try instead.”

For a long time, Allura says nothing. Her strange, jewel-toned eyes bore into Keith’s with such intensity that he wants to look away, and though he may be wrong he thinks he sees moisture brimming in the corners.

“He still loves you, Keith,” she says at last. “He does. Whatever it is, it’s not because of your Galra genes.”

Keith doesn’t reply to that, and Allura bows her head.

“I will try to speak with him, Keith,” she sighs. “But...promise me you won’t give up just because of this?”

The smile Keith gives her is bitter as he finally wrests his fingers free of her grip.

“The universe is a lot bigger than us and our problems,” he says.

“Yes. I suppose it is,” Allura agrees softly. “Well, will you go back to dinner? Or is it the training deck for you?”

Keith raises an eyebrow at her and she smiles.

“Off with you,” she says, shooing him away. “If you keep training at the rate you’re going, soon enough you might be able to face the gladiator’s child setting.”

He doesn’t have it in him to snap at that and allows her to push him toward the deck. Shiro’s door passes him on the left as he walks, but he doesn’t stop there anymore. Their leader has made it abundantly clear that it’s a space in which he is no longer welcome, and despite Lance’s claims to the contrary, Keith _can_ take a hint.

When he reaches the training deck and is away from prying eyes, Keith allows himself to break for just a moment. To fall to his knees and take a savage sort of pleasure from the pain that shoots up his spine, wrap his arms around his middle and dig his claws into his sides, and cry. Sob for the final piece that’s clicked into place, the final thing he’s only just admitted, understood.

He is Galra. He is the enemy.

He curls in on himself, eyes stinging and throat burning and every inch of him despising himself for being so pathetic. He’s known this for ages. He _knows_ he’s Galra, damnit, he can see his reflection every time he looks in the mirror. Yet somehow he hasn’t had to come to terms with it. As long as Shiro and the others treated him as Keith, he’s been allowed to exist as nothing else. Just Keith. His admittance to Allura was his acknowledgement that it’s wrong, that his very existence is unwelcome on this ship. It’s a harsh thing, finally understanding that.

Although, even this is familiar. It isn’t the first time he’s been unwanted, after all.

When Keith stands, his tears have dried and his hands don’t shake. His heart still hurts and he knows that it might never stop, but he meant what he said to Allura. The universe is a whole lot bigger than him or his broken heart. He can’t lose sight of that.


	3. Live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are lucky my beta is more compassionate than I am. I was gonna end it here, but we both agreed it would've been lacking

The battle is unfairly easy, even without the lions.

The paladins landed on the planet discreetly, knowing that a full-frontal assault here would endanger the inhabitants they were trying to free. It’s a small planet the Galra use as a trading post and loading station, out on the outskirts of this system, with a simple and peaceful race living there under Zarkon’s thumb. It’s not heavily defended, the soldiers stationed there are lax, and the paladins sneak into the base without even needing to incapacitate the guards.

“This is almost boring,” Pidge snickers.

The five of them don’t lower their guard, however. They all know that when something is easy, it’s usually because something serious is coming up soon. Usually it’s a simple trap, as it was on the Balmera, but sometimes it’s an ambush. So their bayards are out and at the ready.

Pidge is in the lead with Keith at her shoulder, following the map projected from the computer at her wrist. Hunk creeps along behind them, inactive bayard gripped so tightly that his hand shakes a bit. Lance and Shiro bring up the rear, eyes sharp and ears straining for any hint that something is about to go south.

“Are we close to the command center?” Keith asks, eyes flicking in every direction.

He’s removed his helmet to free his ears and listen without hindrance. Every few seconds one twitches and he’ll gesture in the direction of the sound; they change direction accordingly to avoid any preemptive fighting. Until they can get to the center and shut down the base, it’s best not to raise any alarms.

“Yeah,” Pidge says, jerking her chin straight ahead. “We’ll take the next left, walk straight for a bit, then it should be a big electronic door on the right.”

“Sweet,” Lance whisper-cheers, shifting the weight of his activated bayard so he can punch the air. “We’re turning into top-notch secret agents, you guys.”

“Don’t get complacent,” Shiro warns, still watching their backs uneasily. “Getting in isn’t the hard part.”

“Depends on the situation,” Lance says, and the others don’t have to look to know that he’s winking. A sharp sound echoes down the hall and Lance yelps.

Keith’s lips twitch.

Despite their anxiety, the team reaches the doors in question without incident. Pidge grins and set to work with the access pad.

“I don’t like this,” Hunk mutters.

“It’s too easy,” Keith agrees.

“Doesn’t matter,” Pidge says. “We gotta finish the mission and--HA!”

She smacks the pad triumphantly.

The door hisses as it opens, and all hell breaks loose.

* * *

They were waiting for the paladins. It makes sense, and none of them were particularly surprised by the surprise ambush, but the numbers are difficult to manage. These aren’t skilled, seasoned soldiers and most are drones, but the sheer amount of them is giving them trouble. They’ve let themselves get separated in the large control room, but they can still see each other. As Keith slices clean through one drone and keeps moving to lop the head off of another, his gaze automatically finds Shiro, and his stomach drops.

Shiro is fighting one of the only true Galra troops present, and from the looks of him he has to be the commander. He’s huge, easily twice Shiro’s size, and built like the Yellow Lion. The blade he swings looks like a dagger in his massive hand, but it looks to be the same size as Keith’s sword. As he watches, a drone lunges at Shiro and he turns to kill it; when he turns back, the commander is charging, and Shiro goes stock-still.

 _Shit_. He knows what’s happening. Shiro can’t defend himself like that, not when he’s caught in a flashback. He needs help.

Keith can’t intercept it safely. He knows that even as he lunges out, knows that he’ll be able to deflect the blow but it’ll knock him off-balance, cost him valuable seconds. It’s a dangerous move. It can’t possibly end well for him. But it doesn’t matter, because Shiro is still frozen and shows no signs of moving to block the glowing blade as it cuts through the air. That makes his decision quite simple.

“Shiro!” he snarls as he leaps.

The black paladin startles, but it’s too late for him to respond to the threat. The blade descends. Shiro closes his eyes, braces himself. And Keith is there, there just in time and still in motion and not at all stable, but he’s there in time to block the attack. The Galra blade glances off of his bayard, but the power behind the blow sends Keith stumbling to the side, swearing under his breath at the way his arm burns. It is _not_ supposed to take so much force at such an awkward angle.

“Keith!” Shiro shouts, and in the heat of the moment Keith can see him reaching out. “Watch out!”

Something slams Keith into the wall. His bayard flies from his hand and skitters across the floor, too far, far out of his reach. Pain shoots through his face and makes his eyes water as his nose breaks against the hard surface; something warm and wet bursts forth to flow over his lips and chin. He screws up his face in distaste and tries to push away, but something hard and solid hold him where he is.

“ _Stop!_ ” someone bellows, and the thing pushing against Keith shifts. “Stop now, or this one dies!”

Keith’s ears flatten and he can’t bite back a snarl. Something brushes the back of his neck and he feels himself being jerked backward by the collar of his armor. He lashes out automatically, kicking back and feeling his heel connect with an armored knee. It earns him nothing but an irritated growl and a shake, as though he were cat picked up by the scruff of its neck.

The response is immediate. Despite their clear advantage, the paladins freeze more suddenly than if Blue had hit them with her ice beam. Pidge is surrounded by collapsed drones and Galra soldiers alike, not within arms reach of any remaining enemies, in no immediate danger, but the look on her face suggests that she’s the one being held, not Keith. The exit that’s being guarded by Lance and Hunk is littered with fallen drone soldiers and both of them appear unhurt, but the way color drains from their faces suggests bloodloss somewhere.

And Shiro? This is the first time he’s looked right at Keith in over a month, and Keith feels sick at the expression on his face. Blatant terror is in his eyes, his mouth is open around what Keith can only assume is a silent scream, and his hand is still half-outstretched, glowing faintly purple in distress. Keith wants to comfort him, to smooth his thumbs over the the lines in Shiro’s forehead and chase away the fear.

Instead his hands move back; try to claw at the hand holding him to tear himself free. His claws glance off of armor, and he’s reminded forcibly of that night, as he scrabbled at an arm that offered no purchase, had no give. He swallows, looking away from Shiro, and grits his teeth as he is brandished at the others like some sort of inanimate object.

“Let him go!”

Lance is the first to shout. No surprise there. When Keith looks over at him, he finds the man leveling his bayard at the Galra holding Keith, a look of absolute fury etched in every line of his face. Keith almost chuckles at that. Almost.

The enemy commander does it for him. Something presses against Keith’s middle where the armor doesn’t cover, something hot and humming faintly. He goes still. His heart thunders in his chest, in his ears.

“Lance!” Shiro shouts. “Lower your weapon!”

Keith’s ears press tighter against his head at the break in Shiro’s voice. He doesn’t look back at his leader. He doesn’t think he can stand whatever look is on Shiro’s face now, because it doesn’t take being his lover to know that Shiro feels responsible for everything and everyone. It doesn’t take a lover to know that guilt and fear are probably eating him alive.

No, Keith continues to watch Lance. Lance is safe. The look on his face, like he’s swallowed a lemon, accompanies his bayard deactivating. Keith looks to Hunk, who looks ready to faint, and then to Pidge, who wears an expression similar to Lance.

“Do as I say, and I will not kill him,” the commander growls.

“No guys, don’t--” Keith starts, but that pressure against his middle increases.

He feels his suit split beneath it and looks down. A wince escapes him; the tip of the Galra’s blade rests against his sternum, angled so that with just a little bit of pressure it might slide right between Keith’s ribs. Blood already trickles from the spot where the blade has pierced his suit, not a strong flow but more than enough to get his point across.

“ _You_ ,” the Galra spits, “may not speak. Filthy mutt.”

Keith’s lips curl.

“Or what?” he snaps. “Kill me and you lose your bargaining chip!”

“Keith!” Shiro barks.

Keith finally looks at him, and his heart sinks further than it ever has, further than he ever thought it would be able to. Shiro will listen. Shiro will do whatever the Galra commander says while Keith is in his clutches. And the others will follow his lead.

“Everyone, lower your weapons,” Shiro says, eyes locked on Keith’s.

Keith presses his lips together and thinks. His ears twitch as each bayard clatters to the floor.

 _C’mon, Red Paladin_ , an inner voice jeers. _Where’s all that helpful instinct now? Can brash impulse get you out of this?_

The pressure of the blade against his torso lessens once the others are unarmed. Keith’s hands fall back to his sides. However, it’s not a gesture of defeat.

It’s funny, the things that suddenly make sense in moments like this. Funny how easy it becomes to distance himself from the situation, how simple the entire thing is, really. He’s a hostage. As long as that fact remains unchanged, they’re all in danger and nobody can attack. Nobody can flee. He’s the piece that’s tipping the scales, just one weight, just a little extra mass on the wrong side. It’s easy enough to change the equation, to fix the problem, but he doesn’t think that anybody will. That anybody can.

It’s funny, the things one thinks of when so close to death. His first thought is for Red. He doesn’t know how long she waited, or how many paladins there were before him. Only that he is not the first. None of them are; the lions continue to exist, to live in whatever way a semi-sentient ship can, while their paladins die or retire or simply disappear. How long does it take them to choose a new one?

His second thought is for the universe. Losing the paladins, losing the lions, losing _Voltron_ is out of the question. People are just beginning to rise up again, just now allowing themselves to hope, and it’s because of the difference that they themselves are making. It’s not a question of waiting this out, playing it smart and escaping with all of them intact. There will be no escaping if they allow themselves to be taken and imprisoned. What’s more, they may be turned into weapons themselves. They can’t afford that. Allura can’t afford that. The universe can’t afford it.

His third and final thought is for the team. For their families back on Earth, their families waiting for their return even if they don’t know it. Varadero Beach waits for Lance, that stupid pizza shack he’s always reminiscing about and his siblings and his parents are all waiting. Home cooked meals and a tactile family wait for Hunk, a little sister who he says used to use him as a bed and his two moms who know just how to calm him down during his fits of anxiety. Pidge’s mom waits for her, the family dog that the green paladin sometimes talks about that likes to chew on Matt’s boots. Shiro’s family believes him dead, thanks to the Garrison, so they’ll cry and laugh and maybe scream a little when he finally returns; they’ll throw their arms around him, pull him into the home that’s missed him so much, and it’ll be as though he never left.

In none of these places is there room for Keith.

_Kill me and you lose your bargaining chip._

“Pidge,” Keith says.

Everyone jumps; the green paladin looks at him. He doesn’t say anything else but flicks an ear in Shiro’s direction, praying that she’ll understand. Judging from the way her eyes widen, he thinks she does. He tries to ignore the lump that rises in his throat when he sees the way her eyes begin to shine behind her glasses.

He turns his head to meet Shiro’s gaze and tries to smile.

“Shiro, you know what has to happen now, don’t you?” Keith says.

“Quiet, you--”

“Oh shut up,” Keith snaps. “We’ve been over this already big guy.”

He looks back at his leader. His leader, who is positively trembling.

“I’m not more important than Voltron,” Keith growls.

“Keith…” Shiro chokes.

In his tone Keith recognizes realization. So, Shiro does understand.

“Don’t you dare,” Keith snarls when Shiro’s hand twitches. “Unless you plan on killing me, don’t come any closer. You’re not bargaining here.”

Shiro recoils. Lance yells something at him that he doesn’t bother paying attention to, and Hunk says something in apparent agreement. Pidge is silent, but Keith can see her inching toward her fallen bayard. Keith’s is only a few feet away from it. She’ll be able to grab them both. They can’t afford to lose a second bayard as well.

“Keith, you know I can’t,” Shiro breathes. “Don’t--don’t ask me to--”

“I’m not asking,” Keith interrupts. “I’m telling you. My life isn’t more important than the universe.”

“Keith, I can’t,” Shiro says, and his voice hardens. “I _won’t_.”

Keith’s lips twitch.

“I know,” he murmurs.

“Then--what are you saying?”

“Leave,” Keith says simply. “Without me.”

The outrage this is met with earns Keith another tear in his suit and a thin line of blood across his stomach. He flinches and hisses, but he maintains eye contact with Shiro even when the tip of the Galra’s sword presses against his sternum again.

“How could you say that?” Lance demands. “I knew you were dense, but I can’t believe you’re actually stupid enough to believe we’d just leave you here!”

“I know you won’t,” Keith snaps.

“Then why would you--”

“I’m not giving you a choice.”

His words hang in the air, almost visible, for some time that’s impossible to measure. When someone speaks, it’s the Galra.

“If you’re finished with this _touching_ display--” he begins.

“Shiro, I love you.”

Shiro flinches as if Keith struck him.

“Keith, don’t do this,” he pleads. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything, please, you can’t--”

Keith closes his eyes and tightens his core. He knows where the Galra’s hand is. It’s too close for him to wedge his foot between them and kick out; he’s not that flexible. But he knows his knee can reach.

“I’m _not_ a bargaining chip,” Keith growls.

“Keith, _don’t_!”

“Pidge!” Keith shouts, and his voice, his heart, his head; everything breaks. “ _Take him_.”

He slams his knee into the butt of the sword.

There’s a moment of startling clarity in which Keith is aware of everything. Pidge’s bayard extends, lassoing Shiro and yanking him to the ground before he can leap out to stop Keith and get them both killed. Tears stream down her cheeks, but she doesn’t relent; she knows the stakes, understands the situation best. Lance is stiff with shock, and Keith thinks he’s never seen the man’s eyes or mouth so wide as they are then. Hunk looks like he’s going to be ill; his bayard has deactivated and hangs from the tips of his fingers at his side. And Shiro?

Shiro is frantic. Pale as a ghost and thrashing in his bindings, tearing uselessly at the cord of the bayard with his eyes fixed on Keith. His pupils have utterly swallowed his irises.

Then there’s nothing but pain. The room is awash of red and Keith’s chest burns and his jaw clenches against a scream that will only send Shiro into a greater frenzy. The Galra drops him with a snarl of surprise and he falls, listless, to the floor. Upon landing the sword is forced deeper, but the agony is so all-encompassing that Keith barely registers this at all as he slumps sideways.

Dimly he thinks he hears shouting. The sounds of Lance’s blaster firing. He can’t really focus on any of it, though, and the lights seem painfully bright against his eyes, so he closes them. It happens faster this time. A weight settles over his body as the darkness pulls at him, and with it comes a soothing sort of nothingness. Warmth slowly replaces the pain and he tries to breathe a sigh of relief, but it comes out as a ragged cough and something hot and wet bubbles in the back of his throat. He coughs again and the fluid splatters the floor. It continues to trickle from his lips and down his chin, but he can’t seem to find the strength to reach up and wipe it away.

Shouting right above him makes him flatten his ears in discomfort. It brings awareness back with it, lifts him and makes the agony flare up again and he hisses.

“...eith!” the person shouts. Shiro. “Keith! Come on, open your eyes, stay with me buddy!”

Keith cringes away.

 _Go_ , he wants to say. _Leave._

“Come on, please, please, open your eyes,” Shiro pleads. Something wet falls onto Keith’s cheek. “We’ll get you back to the Castle, get you in a healing pod, you’ll be okay, please just stay with me. I can’t lose you.”

 _You don’t mean that_ , Keith wants to growl. But he won’t. He’ll let the bitterness go. His last words to Shiro won’t be punishment, condemnation. He understands.

So, gritting his teeth at the effort it takes and the pain it causes, Keith forces himself to lift a hand. He cracks his eyes open to find Shiro’s face inches from his own and gently cups his cheek in his palm. Shiro is crying; Keith swipes at the wet trail across his cheek with his thumb.

“I love you,” Keith rasps. “Remember me. Okay?”

“No, Keith, no, please, you can’t,” Shiro chokes. “You can’t leave me, not like this, please, I’m sorry, I’m _sorry_ , I’m so sorry for everything, please stay awake.”

Keith closes his eyes against Shiro’s distraught expression, but leaves his hand where it is.

“Sorry,” he says. The warmth is back. He feels so heavy. His tongue doesn’t want to form words. “I’m sorry.”

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro howls.

There’s pressure against the wound, but it doesn’t hurt. Arms wrap around him, pull him tight against a hard shell, and something presses against the top of his head. Against his forehead, his temples, his cheeks, his eyes, his lips.

“Please.”

“I love you,” Keith says again.

At least, he thinks he says it.

Everything sounds far away.

It’s dark.

Warm.

It doesn’t hurt.

He’s scared.

His arm falls to the floor.

He thinks he hears words.

They’re probably just his imagination.

He chooses to believe they’re real.

_I love you. I’m sorry, I love you._


	4. Rest

Scared. They’re all scared. The halls ring with screams in the night.

Sometimes it’s Lance that bolts upright, soaked in sweat and stomach twisting, eyes fixed on a body only he can see in his empty room. Other times Hunk is the one to lurch from his bed and stagger to the nearest bathroom, body rejecting the meager amounts of food he’s managed to eat at the echoing sound of a sword being drawn not from a sheath but a body. A few times Pidge has woken in tears, ears ringing with screams, with curses and accusations that she can only take in silence as she looks in abject horror as one of the few people she has left takes himself away. Sleep doesn’t find Shiro at all, or if it does it’s dark and heavy, trapping him so deeply in his subconscious that when he tears back into wakefulness he’s trembling from something he can’t even remember. Allura and Coran spend most of their time on the star deck, unable to sleep because every time they close their eyes they see their red paladin limp in Shiro’s arms, a Galra weapon lodged in his middle so deeply that its tip emerges from his back.

They find each other in the night.

Wandering the halls, drifting toward the healing deck, they find each other. When one wakes, they find the others, and together they traipse in a bone-deep and utterly silent sort of exhaustion to the same place. There they’ll stand in front of the lone active pod and look, take in the unstable vitals and the wound that doesn’t seem to change, and if they cry nobody comments.

* * *

Shiro finds Lance sitting on the floor in the shower, knees pressed to his chest and arms wrapped around his shins. The water is scalding, leaving horrible welts along his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His face is hidden in his limbs.

It’s a harsh day when the team’s mood-maker falls silent. Harsher still when he doesn’t even _try_ to pretend that he’s okay, that he’s just tired, that he thinks everything will turn out fine. Shiro goes to him in silence and shuts the water off before kneeling at his side. He doesn’t say a word; he doesn’t need to. Lance tightens his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Shiro closes his eyes, then leans over to wrap his left arm around Lance’s shoulders.

“This isn’t your fault, Lance,” he sighs.

“Sure,” Lance huffs.

A sigh leaves Shiro, but he doesn’t say anything more. There’s nothing he has a right to say, no advice or consolation he can give that won’t sound hollow coming from his lips. He knows how Lance feels, knows too well, and though he longs to say it’s nobody’s fault he doesn’t believe the words himself.

“I keep thinking about it. What I could’ve done,” Lance says. “There must’ve been _something_.”

“Lance, that--”

“I’m scared, Shiro.”

Shiro looks over. Lance shifts to set his chin on his knees and stare straight ahead. His eyes are red and shadowed.

“I always miss home,” Lance croaks. “I...I’ve been scared for awhile, I guess. That I might not make it back to my family. But…”

“This makes it seem more real, doesn’t it?”

A choked noise, almost like a laugh, leaves Lance.

“I was in a _coma_ before, Shiro,” he says. “A _coma_ , and I was only in the pod for a couple of days. It’s been a week already. I always...ugh, it sounds stupid, but I kinda always thought Keith was...I don’t know…”

“Invincible.”

“Stupid,” Lance reiterates with a hollow chuckle. “But yeah. And if _Keith_ can...can…”

Shiro swallows and Lance bites his lip.

“What chance do I have?”

Shiro looks away. Finding the same spot on the wall that Lance is so fascinated by, he withdraws his arms and clasps his hands on his lap.

“I wish I could tell you guys that we’ll be fine,” he rasps. “That we’ll all get out of this in one piece and go home. God, I wish I could promise you that. But--”

“It’s not realistic,” Lance finishes. “That’s not a promise you can make. I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know that, too.”

Shiro leaves.

* * *

Shiro finds Hunk in the Yellow Lion’s hangar. He doesn’t seem to be working on anything or doing maintenance; he just sits at her feet, leaning against one massive mechanical paw. There are dark smudges beneath his eyes and his hair is a matted mess atop his head.

“Has she said anything?” Shiro asks.

Hunk yelps and jumps as if electrocuted, and the lion automatically rumbles. When he spots Shiro, he relaxes and reaches out to pat his partner, though he hardly looks happy to be found.

“Not really,” he says, forcing a light tone that wouldn’t fool a child. “Red’s not giving any of the lions much. Apparently she’s closed herself off pretty tight. Yellow’s the only one that can even get a feel for her.”

This almost brings a smile to Shiro’s face, fragile though it feels. Red and Yellow seem to share a particularly close connection, and they’ve figured that it’s partly to do with their paladins. Hunk is one of the few that Keith has opened up to fully and willingly, and their comfort with each other has affected the bond between their lions. It’s not a surprise that Yellow can get through to Red.

“What kind of... _feel_ is she getting?” Shiro asks as he approaches, reaching out a careful hand to touch Yellow’s paw. A hum reverberates through his fingertips and climbs up his arm.

Hunk presses his lips together and looks up at his lion. His eyes are dry, and that is what worries Shiro the most. Hunk is a crier; always has been. He cries when he’s sad, when he’s angry or frustrated, even when he’s happy. It’s the first thing that Shiro learned about the man in their time together and something he’s found rather endearing, the open sincerity. A crying Hunk is familiar, especially if he’s scared for his friends.

“It’s...hard to say,” Hunk says hesitantly. “Everyone’s all so mixed up right now, she’s not sure if what she thinks she’s picking up is definitely Red or if it’s residual from everyone else.”

“But…”

Hunk refuses to look at him.

“Yellow thinks she’s scared,” he says. “Mad, too, but mostly scared.”

“Mad?” Shiro echoes.

“Mad,” Hunk nods. “Mad that...about what happened. Mad that it’s taking so long.”

“And scared about the same things?”

“Yeah.”

Shiro looks back up at the armored lion. She’s built to protect, like a massive shield. She’s thick and sturdy enough to be the leg that supports a massive robot. Allura had said that Yellow needed a paladin who was caring and kind, ready to put others’ needs above their own. She and her paladin are protectors by their very nature.

“Hunk?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Are _you_?”

Shiro looks over at Hunk and notices for the first time the deep lines in his forehead and around his eyes. He looks exhausted. Sick.

_Stupid question._

“There was nothing you could’ve done,” Shiro says.

Hunk’s expression falls.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he mumbles, looking back at Yellow. “Defender of the universe. Paladin of the Yellow Lion. I’ve got this bayard that turns into a shoulder cannon. Sounds pretty cool. But even with all that, I couldn’t do anything to save him.”

“Hunk, that’s--”

“Don’t, Shiro,” Hunk interrupts. “Just--don’t. We go on and on about being a team, but when it comes down to it we can’t do anything to help each other. Keith’s the only one that can ever make hard decisions for the good of the team, and now he’s--”

A choked noise escapes Hunk and he falls silent. Shiro presses his lips together and looks away.

“How does he do that?” Hunk murmurs. “How can he...look at a situation like that and just be...I don’t know, so cold and practical about it? Like he’s disposable?”

Shiro sighs.

“Because to him, it’s that simple,” he answers. “Keith never had anybody on earth. He cares about everyone here, he really does, but because of how he grew up it’s easier for him to distance himself from others. Look at the bigger picture.”

“That sucks,” Hunk says succinctly.

A weak smile curves Shiro’s lips.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, it really does.”

* * *

Pidge is fiddling with Rover in front of the pod when Shiro walks in. Her hair is a mess that hasn’t seen a brush in days and hasn’t had a trim in weeks. Her glasses sit crooked on her nose and her eyes are heavy-lidded and distant behind the lenses. She hasn’t said a word to Shiro since their return to the ship and has barely been able to look at him. He’ll be lying if he says he isn’t upset with her for holding him back, but he understands and he knows it’s unfair of him.

“Pidge,” he greets. She jumps and whips around. “You should be sleeping.”

“So should you,” she retorts.

There are maybe a dozen things Shiro wants to say. There are probably even more that Pidge wants to tell him. But they both lapse into silence and look up at Keith’s unconscious face, still spotted with blood because there hadn’t been time to exactly wipe him down before putting him in. Rover hums and lifts itself in the air to hover by Shiro’s ear. He looks around in time to see Pidge slowly, arduously lifting herself to her feet, still determinedly not looking at him.

“Pidge,” Shiro starts at the same time that Pidge says “Listen.”

They both stop and Pidge risks a sideways glance. Shiro offers a small smile that she returns, then they both sigh and fix their gazes back on the pod.

“Go ahead,” Shiro says.

“I’m sorry,” Pidge says without preamble. “I--I’m sorry about holding you back.”

Shiro presses his lips together, but Pidge isn’t done.

“I just panicked when Keith--I mean, I knew what he was asking, and I…” she sniffs, then grits her teeth. “He’s an idiot. I shouldn’t have listened to him, I should’ve thought of something else, I should’ve _thought_ \--”

“Pidge,” Shiro barks. “You did the right thing.”

This finally brings her gaze around. Her eyes are huge behind her glasses and shining wetly, her lips quivering dangerously. Despite her clear distress, her brow is furrowed in a way that can only be described as frustrated. It’s the recurring theme throughout the ship.

“You think so?” Pidge says, voice impressively skeptical even with its tremor.

Shiro sighs and directs his stinging eyes to the ceiling.

“I don’t like it,” he says heavily. “But...if I’d just jumped in, that Galra could have killed Keith anyway. And he might’ve caught or killed me. You were right to hold me back.”

“Then why do I feel like shit?”

The sheer empty tone draws a reluctant bubble of laughter from Shiro’s chest, there and gone in the blink of an eye, but it lessens the tension in the room just a bit. Pidge’s shoulders lower from her ears and Shiro closes his eyes and heaves a sigh. He reaches out to set a hand in Pidge’s hair; she swats the touch aside, but curls her fingers around his when their hands swing down. With a small chuckle he allows her to tangle their fingers together.

“He’s gonna be fine,” Pidge says shakily. “He’s gonna be fine, and he’ll wake up and we’ll all take turns kicking his ass to Earth and back for this stunt.”

“I don’t think he’ll appreciate that,” Shiro says. “Or that Coran will let that happen.”

“I can dream,” Pidge grumbles.

She swings their linked hands slightly at her side.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says after a while. “I had no right be upset with you.”

Pidge snorts.

“I think being wrapped up in my bayard is reason enough,” she says with a raised eyebrow. “Unless you’re into that, I guess.”

She smirks at the blush that graces Shiro’s cheeks.

“I--I still don’t think it was fair of me,” he says, not daring to respond to her comment.

“Let’s agree to disagree,” Pidge sighs with a shrug.

Shiro squeezes her hand with a small smile and takes his leave. Just before he leaves, a quiet sob reaches his ears and he clenches his jaw. He says nothing. Just keeps walking.

* * *

Cleary Shiro isn’t meant to walk in on this.

Allura and Coran don’t even react when he enters the med bay, continuing to speak in hushed voices. It’s too quiet for him to make out their words beyond the hissing of their consonants, but the way they trade scrunched expressions and sharp gestures in front of Keith’s healing pod doesn’t instil a sense of confidence in him. He hesitates before speaking, caught in the middle between wanting to slip quietly away and wanting to know what they’re saying. If it’s about Keith, and if that’s good or bad.

The decision is made for Shiro when Coran looks up. If he were a cat, the man’s hair would have bristled in surprise--and Shiro thinks that his mustache might actually seem a bit fuller than before.

“Shiro, m’boy!” he greets, tone disproportionately jovial. Allura stiffens, but when she turns to face him her expression is placid. Her hands fold together before her.

“Shiro, what are you doing wandering around so late?” she asks, voice gently reproving. “You should be asleep.”

“If I could sleep, I would,” Shiro answers with a shrug. He glances at the pod. “What about the two of you?”

The Alteans glance at each other. Allura’s fingers tighten around each other and Coran, whose poker face is sorely lacking, very nearly hides a grimace simply due to the ginger mustache obscuring his face. Inwardly Shiro braces himself as if for a physical blow.

“It’s--we were just…” Allura begins.

“Really, it’s just an errant thought, nothing serious,” Coran interjects. Allura throws him a Look.

“We don’t know if...if Keith will be…” she frowns, rolling her lower lip between her teeth. She sighs heavily. “We don’t know if he will be able to pilot the red lion again.”

For a count of three, Shiro doesn’t react. It takes that long for the words to penetrate his exhausted brain. Then, once he processes them and understands that he did indeed hear the princess correctly, the denial starts.

“ _What_ ?” he shouts. Neither Altean so much as twitch at his outburst. “What does that even _mean_? He’s healing! H-he’s getting better, isn’t he?”

Allura looks away from him, so Shiro swings around to glare at Coran. The man hesitates, eyes full of too many shadows and too many pains for Shiro to understand, before he lets out a shaky breath. He steps forward and settles a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, and only the knowledge that Coran is a part of the team as well, suffering from this every bit as much as the others, keeps Shiro from brushing the touch aside. This is a man who has outlived all of his people, his own planet, and borne witness to countless atrocities. The only people he has left are aboard the Castle Ship.

“I’m afraid that’s not the issue, Shiro,” Coran says heavily. “His life--that’s not in danger. He will survive this. But the wound itself…”

Coran looks back to the pod again.

“We didn’t get a chance to really evaluate the injury, but from what I saw when he was brought in and what the scanners show… That blade ran him through. Came out his back, even.”

“But the pod’s healing that. Right?” Shiro presses. He doesn’t like where this is going.

“The pods can heal damaged tissue,” Allura says. “They can compensate for blood loss, mend broken bones and internal injuries. But even they have their limits.”

“Shiro, what we’re worried about is the exit wound,” Coran continues. “We don’t know _exactly_ where it was or how clean because we were in such a hurry, but based on the scans…it was dangerously close to his spinal column. We don’t know the extent of the damage done there, but it’s safe to assume that it was...severe.”

“What does that mean?” Shiro croaks.

 _Don’t,_ he pleads. _Don’t answer that. I can’t--_ he _can’t…_

Despite his best efforts, Shiro often finds himself imagining worst-case scenarios. Usually, they end with at least one person he cares for dying. Since the incident with Keith over a month ago, he’s started imagining the deaths of loved ones at his own hands, scenes that make him feel physically ill but that he can’t force away. Untimely demise is usually the worst a person can imagine, but Shiro is gifted with the knowledge that worse things exist, and sometimes his mind takes him back to the arena, puts the others in his place there. His nightmares are the worst things that his mind can offer him. They’re what he assumes to be the very worst that could happen.

When Keith gets hurt, Shiro is at times irrational in his fear, but the worst he has ever imagined is death. Keith is such a bright spirit, so full of fire and life and movement, that it’s hard to picture anything less managing to overcome him. Only the Grim Reaper themselves could snuff out Keith’s wildfire. When Keith recovers from his injuries, he’s back to burning too bright to see and too hot to touch but for those rare moments when he is calm and gentle. Nothing can stop him from fighting, from piloting, from living life quietly but with reckless abandon all the same. That’s just how Keith is.

“It means that, when he comes out of the pod, Keith may be paralyzed from the waist down,” Allura murmurs. "Theoretically, he could still pilot, but he would essentially be confined in his craft."

Shiro blinks.

“That…” a voice croaks, and it can’t be his. That weak, rasping croak can’t possibly belong to him; he’s never heard his voice sound like this. “That’s not possible.”

The sympathetic look on Coran’s face makes Shiro want nothing more than to fling himself into the nearest sun.

“I’m afraid it is,” the man says gently. " _If_ that happens, even if he can still fly his lion, he wouldn't be able to participate in a great deal of missions."

“But--you can fix that if it happens, right?” Shiro demands. “All this technology, you’d be able to--to fix his spine, or, I don’t know, make a _new_ one?!”

It’s nonsensical. He knows it is, but surely if the Galra can make him an entirely new, fully functioning limb then the Alteans can do something about paralysis?

“With enough time and the proper resources, that could be a possibility,” Allura acknowledges. “But we don’t have enough of either. If Keith...if he comes out paralyzed, we won’t have the means to change it. Not until the war is over.”

There’s nothing in Shiro’s stomach for him to throw up, but it doesn’t seem to realize that. It heaves impressively, bringing him to his knees as his body shakes with useless spasms, and Coran and Allura rush to his sides but he can’t do much besides wave them away. His eyes sting and his throat burns, and there’s a distinctive taste of metal on the back of his tongue. Shiro clamps his right hand over his mouth, the cool metal tingling against his flushed skin, and his left arm wraps around his middle.

Shiro can’t imagine a world in which Keith can’t fight. In which his fierce flame sits, immobile and helpless, unable to consume but only flicker on a shelf. Keith doesn’t have a sideline personality. He’s always in the thick of the action, and to think of any other role for him is not only an insult but a conflict of logic, of practical thinking and common sense. Keith needs that constant action, the one thing he’s always taken pride in and that he’s always excelled at. Taking piloting away from him would be like taking away the air he breathes. It wouldn’t matter that he’s alive; he will have died inside.

“Shiro, please,” Allura says, alarmed. “He will live, and we’re not even sure. This is just speculation at this point, there’s no evidence yet that--”

“If there was no evidence,” Shiro chokes, refusing to look at her, “then you wouldn’t be thinking about it in the first place.”

She has no refute and a small noise leaves her. Coran’s fingers tighten on Shiro’s shoulder, and then Allura is wrapped around him, pulling his head to her shoulder and hiding her face in his. After a moment, Coran takes them both into his arms, sniffling loudly.

Scared. They’re all scared.


	5. Celebrate

Scared.

It’s dark.

Where is he?

Hurts.

So much noise.

No, don’t touch him.

Stop.

Hurts.

Screaming.

Is somebody crying?

_ I’m sorry. _

Scared.

Hurts.

_ Scared. Hurts. Scared, hurts, scared hurts scaredhurtsSCARED _

Keith wakes abruptly, with no idea where he is or if he’s even alive. His middle burns and his heart pounds with adrenaline from an uncertain source. The lights are so bright they hurt his eyes and there are noises that his sensitive ears aren’t ready to make sense of. He’s cold; all the way down to the tips of his toes, he’s freezing. He shivers and tries to wrap his arms around himself, but they’re too heavy to manage it.

Then air rushes past him; the floor beneath his feet tilts. Just before he collides with it, something warm and solid breaks his fall and he melts against it, greedily sinking into the disembodied heat. More noise. It sounds like voices, and the things that wrap around his waist feel like arms. But that can’t be right. The last thing he remembers is being on a Galra base, lying on a floor strewn with defeated drones. Unable to get up. In so much pain. Pain. From--

Keith jerks away from whatever is holding him. His hands fly to his midsection and his eyes finally wrenching open despite the harsh lighting that bores into them. He stares down at his fingers as they run over his stomach, searching for the hilt of a sword that no longer exists. The small amount of movement leaves him dizzy and swaying dangerously again, but he bats away the hands that enter his sight almost absently.

_ How? _ he wonders.  _ I should be… _

Finally, the noises start to make sense. There’s the humming of the ship, the whirring of the healing pod as it sinks back into the floor. There are voices, too, voices that he realizes have been speaking to him for some amount of time. He looks up, wincing at the lights, and finds himself almost nose-to-nose with Shiro.

Gunmetal gray eyes are locked on him, wide as saucers in a ghostly face. The man looks like he’s aged another decade, with lines around his eyes and dark shadows hanging below them. He looks at Keith as if unsure whether or not he’s real, and Keith is reminded of that face as he last saw it. The horrified expression he wore then, as if hearing his own death sentence, is far too reminiscent of the look that hangs from his features now. It reminds Keith of the darkness that closed in around his frantic face, muffling his words and stealing the light from his eyes.

When arms wrap around him, they come from the side. Keith yelps as he is lifted into the air in a warm and powerful embrace, squirms when Hunk unabashedly plants a dozen tear-damp kisses all over his face, and can’t hold back a quiet chuckle when the man refuses to let him go even after returning him to his feet. Another hug takes them both and Keith stiffens when he recognizes Lance’s thick voice trying to make some incoherent joke about being late to the party right by his ear. The blue paladin presses his face into the back of Keith’s shoulder, and Keith frowns but figures he’s better off not commenting. Pidge is next, nearly flying from her perch near the main doors to slam into Keith’s side. He winces, a dull ache echoing through his torso, but manages to worm an arm out from confinement to pull her to him. She’s crying, too.

“Guys, what’s going on?” he asks, then stiffens when he hears the croak of his voice.

“Welcome back, Keith,” says a warm voice from somewhere nearby.

He wriggles, trying to turn toward it, and the others loosen their hold on him enough for him to face Allura. She stands between Shiro and Coran, hands folded neatly in front of her and positively beaming at him, multicolored eyes shining like stars. Coran’s mustache twitches uncontrollably, and past all of the muffled sniffs and random, unintelligible words Keith can hear the Altean give the loudest sniffle of all. He wonders how much restraint it’s taking him to keep from tackling Keith like the others.

“Princess,” Keith acknowledges.

Finally the others pull away, Hunk swiping at the tear tracks on his cheeks and Lance scrubbing a hand through his hair in an attempt to look unruffled while Pidge stays close to Keith’s side. The princess steps forward, unlinking her hands so that she can settle them on Keith’s shoulders. He fights the urge to shy away from her touch and the hard edge to her still-damp eyes.

“You are the most trouble out of any red paladin I have ever met,” Allura says. 

Keith blinks.

“Um…” he mumbles.

Allura squeezes his shoulders tightly. Keith winces and he knows that he’s going to bruise.

“You’ve been in the healing pod for just over two of your Earth weeks,” she says.

“I-- _ what _ ?!” Keith shouts, jumping back. “Two--why didn’t you--”

The temperature in the room drops by several degrees. He manages to cut himself off, but the implication behind his words is there for everybody to infer.

“ _ You _ are the red paladin, Keith,” Allura says, tone sharp. “And it is our duty as a team to protect our own.”

Keith bites his tongue against the arguments that rise to it. He ducks his head, ears flicking before lying flat against his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I set us all back.”

“Well, I can’t deny that we have lost a fair bit of time,” Allura concedes, but her tone is lighter. “But we were mostly just concerned with seeing you alive and well again.”

Keith ventures a shy smile. She returns to beaming at him and leans down to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. His face burns when Lance whistles.

“You must rest,” she says, stepping back. “Shiro, if you would help him to his quarters?”

“That’s really not necessary,” Keith bristles.

Allura raises an eyebrow at him.

“Your motor skills won’t be up to snuff after so long in the pod,” Coran interjects. “It’s best that someone accompanies you to make sure you don’t keel over anywhere.”

“Not keeling over would be good,” Hunk agrees.

“I feel fine,” Keith lies. His head feels like it’s full of cotton and his limbs are still too heavy, but he’d rather stagger his way slowly and clumsily to his room alone than be with Shiro right now. He doesn’t want to know what the man will have to say about this whole affair.

A derisive snort escapes Lance, who leans over and jabs a finger into Keith’s side. Keith whirls on him, an insult already forming on his lips, but even though he’s pretty sure he’s stopped moving, the room continues to spin. He claps a hand to his forehead and lets out an irritated groan. Lance smirks.

“Okay, okay, fine,” he grits. “Just--someone get me to my room so I can sleep for about ten years.”

This at least earns him a short bout of laughter before a hand falls to his shoulder. He stiffens, refusing to look around as he is gently but firmly steered away from the others and toward the door.

He’s unsteady on his own, like a newborn colt, but he refuses to use Shiro as a crutch. The result is that reaching his room is a slow and arduous process, not aided by the fact that the journey is made in utter silence. Neither of them want to speak and the tension radiating off of Shiro is enough to make Keith’s ears flatten against his skull and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. That hand doesn’t leave his shoulder, but Shiro makes no attempt to close the distance beyond that, so neither does Keith.

Then Keith’s door is looming in front of them both and Keith is winded and dizzy, ready to make nice with the bed he apparently has neglected for half a month. Still they stand in silence, and Keith is reluctant to open the door and step inside; to close the door and leave Shiro in the hallway. This is the first contact he’s had with the man in nearly two months, and he isn’t ready to release the comforting pressure on his shoulder and the warmth radiating from the black paladin.

Keith has a problem with letting go. He can ignore his feelings; shove them to the side in favor of something more important, but they don’t go away. It’s always been a struggle for him, because his entire life has been letting go. He doesn’t have much and never has, so the things he calls his own are things he clings to with both hands. Shiro has always been one of those things. First it was the Kerberos mission. Then it was the alleged pilot error. Then it was memory loss, where Shiro remembered him but not  _ them _ . The list goes on and on, all the times Keith has been told to let go, all the times when letting go would have eased the burden on his heart, and all the times he just couldn’t do it.

This time is different. It might finally be the end of the line. But he doesn’t want to admit it. Without looking at the piece of his heart that he’s given away, Keith raises a defeated hand to the access pad at his door.

“Can I come in?”

Keith jumps; his hand accidentally slams into the pad hard enough to make it groan in protest. The door slides open. He doesn’t move.

“Keith?” Shiro prompts.

Keith hesitates. Nods once, then shuffles inside, head still bowed and shoulders curved inward. Shiro follows and Keith catches the sound of the door locking behind them, ensuring that whatever is about to be said will be said without interruption. He isn’t sure how to feel about that.

Wordlessly Shiro steps up to him and takes his hand to guide him to his bed. The blankets are neatly made, reminding Keith of the many, many room inspections back at the Garrison when he had to be able to bounce a quarter off the sheets. He sits down without a care for the carefully made bed and Shiro does the same, still holding onto his hand as though it’s a lifeline.

“Shiro?” Keith prompts. He’s proud when his voice comes out steady.

The other man jumps slightly and his fingers flex around Keith’s.

“Sorry,” Shiro murmurs. “I just…”

Keith closes his eyes and tugs at his hand. There’s a moment of resistance where he thinks Shiro might not release him, then he’s allowed to pull free.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says again.

“What for?” Keith bites, tone sharper than he intends. 

He can feel Shiro flinch and a sliver of guilt coils in his gut. He pushes it aside.

“I’m tired, Shiro,” he says, flopping back with eyes still closed.

“I know,” he answers softly. “But I don’t...I don’t want…”

Keith presses his lips together. He doesn’t want to speak around the ache in his throat, not even to tell Shiro that he understands. That he doesn’t want things to just...fade back into how they were a month ago. He doesn’t want to go back to not speaking, barely looking at each other, and if Shiro leaves now he’s afraid that that’s exactly what will happen. If Shiro leaves now, Keith fears it will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. If Shiro leaves now, it will be the very last time Keith lets go. He can’t do it any more. He isn’t strong enough, and all the fire in him can’t justify fighting a battle that’s so clearly lost.

“Can I stay?”

Shiro cautiously watches his eyes snap open, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Unconsciously the man shifts closer, hand tentatively brushing against Keith’s hip. In the darkness of the room, only Keith can see the way Shiro’s eyes glimmer and the tremble in his fingers when they touch Keith’s wrist again.

With a sigh Keith snatches Shiro’s hand and jerks, bringing him tumbling down, half on top of him. Shiro stiffens but only briefly; once the surprise passes he’s shifting both of them to lie properly on the bed, folding himself around Keith’s smaller frame, and Keith lets him. Though he’s ashamed by his own weakness, Keith really can’t help the feeling of safety that wraps around him with Shiro’s arms, anchoring him in protective comfort. He tucks his nose in the hollow of Shiro’s throat and tries not to think. 

It’s surprisingly easy. His brain is still scrambled from the pod, his body heavy and in need of proper sleep, and the feeling of gentle fingers sliding through his hair is so soothing. He closes his eyes and lets himself nuzzle closer, burrowing into the warmth he’s been utterly without for too long. Shiro presses a kiss to the top of his head, right between his ears, and Keith sighs.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says.

The brief sense of comfort drains away like a plug has been pulled. Keith tries to pull back, but Shiro’s hold tightens into steel.

“For...for the way things have been between us lately,” he continues. 

Keith feels physically ill at how small Shiro’s voice sounds. He doesn’t want to do this. But he can’t find his voice.

“I keep messing this up,” Shiro grits, arms tightening again. “I just want to keep you safe, Keith. I can’t stand it when you get hurt, and when I--back then, when  _ I _ hurt you, I lost it. I couldn’t believe that I’d attacked you, God, Keith, I was so scared. And I didn’t handle it well, I didn’t handle it the way I should have at all.”

Shiro shifts, pulling Keith a little farther up so that he can hide his face in the smaller man’s neck.

“I pushed you away because I was scared of hurting you again,” he says, chapped lips scratching against Keith’s skin. “And all it did was hurt you more. I’m so sorry for that. When you--on the base, I thought--Keith, I thought I was going to lose you. And I hadn’t even apologized; I thought you were going to die right in front of me and we--and I--”

Shiro is shaking. Crying. He clutches Keith to him as though he’s terrified that Keith will vanish into thin air if he lets go. Keith doesn’t know what to do or say. By now he’s familiar with this part of Shiro, the human side that experiences fear every bit as intensely as the rest of them, but he doesn’t know what to do.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” Shiro breathes.

The words give Keith pause. It’s not fair and he knows it, but a spark of irritation jumps in his chest. He pushes against Shiro’s chest, not strong enough to put much force behind it but insistent enough to get his point across. With obvious reluctance Shiro relinquishes Keith, sniffing and watching with damp eyes as Keith sits up, putting more distance between them.

He’s not sure what to say. He’s not really even sure what he’s feeling, only that it’s unpleasant, a sick twisting in his stomach and a crawling heat down his spine. His head buzzes with thoughts, disjointed and fuzzy, but there’s an echoing memory that he can make out.

_ Pilot error. _

“Keep living,” Keith bites, and a part of him is shocked by how cold his voice sounds. “You’d keep living. Like I had to.”

Keith isn’t proud of the way Shiro blanches, but neither is he ashamed of it. It’s not nice or pretty or supportive, but it’s their reality. It’s been Keith’s reality for a very long time that no matter how much it hurts, they have to keep moving forward.

“We don’t have the luxury of breaking down and mourning,” Keith continues. “When you died, I kept going. I didn’t have a choice, and neither do you.”

“Keith…” Shiro murmurs.

“If Allura can keep going after losing her father, we can’t do less.”

Shiro takes an unsteady breath and slowly pushes himself upright. Keith watches without moving as Shiro faces him, crossing his legs while his hands flutter from his ankles, to his knees, to his lap, and back. Without much thought Keith catches Shiro’s wrists and tangles their fingers together, smirking a little when Shiro jumps.

“I love you.”

Shiro’s whisper is deafening in the quiet room. Keith’s ears twitch and his heart skips.

“I love you,” Shiro says again, louder. “God, Keith, I love you so much, and I never want to see you get hurt. When all of this is over, I want to be able to go back to Earth with you, safe and alive and whole. And I know that maybe it’s not realistic, but that’s what I want.”

He pauses, and Keith’s smile is a bit sad.

“You know I want the same thing,” he sighs, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Shiro’s collar. “But we have to keep going even if that doesn’t happen, Shiro.”

The black paladin sighs, leaning his cheek against Keith’s crown.

“I know. I know that. But I’m going to do everything in my power to get all of us out of here in one piece.”

“Me too,” Keith says.

“Keith?”

He hums in acknowledgement.

“Can you promise me something?”

“Depends on what it is,” Keith mumbles.

Shiro tugs his hands free of Keith’s and slides them around him to pull him into his lap. He goes without complaint, shifting to wrap his legs around Shiro’s waist so his knees don’t dig into anybody’s ribs.

“Promise you’ll try not to get hurt?” Shiro says. “I know you can’t avoid it all the time, but...I just want you to try to be more careful. Please.”

Keith hesitates.

“I…I’ll try,” he sighs. “But you have to promise me something, too.”

“Anything,” Shiro says immediately.

_ No take backs _ , Keith wants to say.

“Promise that you’ll keep fighting. Even if something happens to me or the others, you have to promise you won’t give up.”

Silence meets him. Shiro stiffens around him and his breath catches. Keith closes his eyes and pushes his head into Shiro’s shoulder.

“...Alright,” Shiro murmurs. “I...I promise. Please don’t make me come through on it, though.”

Keith chuckles and turns to press a kiss to the curve of Shiro’s neck.

“You know I don’t plan to,” he whispers.

Shiro shivers as Keith’s lips brush against his skin. He leans back across the bed, pulling Keith down with him, and rolls so that they lie on their sides. Keith chuckles, slides his leg out from beneath Shiro before it can go numb and then tangles their legs together, bringing his hands up to curl around the back of Shiro’s neck. The larger man sighs and tugs Keith firmly against him by his waist, tucking his nose into the curve of his neck. Keith responds by kissing Shiro’s temple.

“Sleep,” he sighs. “I know you haven’t been.”

He’s met with silence. Closing his eyes, Keith settles down into the bed, still cradling Shiro’s head to his neck, and allows himself a tenuous smile. He doesn’t have Shiro’s optimism, and he thinks it might be because Shiro can’t afford not to hope for the best. There’s going to come a day, whether they win the war or not, when one of them will have to learn how to live without the other. Keith has already been through it once and he likes to think he’s come out stronger for that struggle, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt or that he’s ready to do it again. He doesn’t want Shiro to go through that, either.

For now, though, he’ll focus on fighting. He’s good at that, so he’ll fight for the universe and for himself and for his loved ones. He’ll fight to live and to protect the people he cares about, and he’ll have to hope that it’s enough. 

Just before he drifts off, he presses a kiss to the top of Shiro’s head and murmurs into his hair.

“I love you.”

Then he closes his eyes and curls more tightly around Shiro.

“Mm...love you too.”

His eyes sting, but he’s smiling when sleep washes over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm wondering if I should cut it off here or keep going. Let me know if you guys want to see more or if you like this ending!  
> Edit: please don't feel discouraged when I don't respond to every comment. I assure you I read every single one and they all make my day; I just don't like responding because my response goes toward the comment count of the fic, and is feels somewhat dishonest of me to do that. Rest assured I am not ignoring your lovely words. In fact, sometimes I'll hit up my comment sections if I'm having a bad day because you all never fail to say kind things.  
> Also I'm always a slut for comments/attention


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